Regardless, I can see how the environment around us is designed to create an illusion of safety. Warm light. Nice smells. Peaceful.
If someone likes that sort of thing.
I find myself squinting every time we pass one of the firebrands on the wall.
My eyes are better able to handle bright lights these days, but the years I spent living in darkness took a serious toll on my ability to handle both sunlight and loud noises.
I suppose from that point of view, I can’t resent the quiet.
As we progress farther along the tunnel, doorways appear within the walls. The doors within are all closed, and each is made of what looks like the same black stone as the rest of the tunnel. They’re so shrouded in darkness that I might have missed them if not for my sensitive eyesight.
Along the way, Emil is also quiet. I find myself missing his presence at my side—and then chastising myself for feeling that way.
Damn him.
Finally, Halle stops at a large door on our left.
It looks like every other door we passed.
“Veda, you will need to place your palm on the groove in the center of this door,” Halle says, gesturing at it.
I eye the goddess with suspicion as I approach the door and my pack fans out once more—this time to position themselves between me and the hounds.
I expand my senses as I step nearer to the stone.
Still, all remains quiet. But my awareness of deception increases. It doesn’t feel as if the space around me is an illusion, but it certainly feels manipulative, as if the sensory input is deliberately calibrated to elicit a desired response.
In my case, a sense of calm.
I hesitate, my palm hovering over the door’s surface, as I make out the indentation in it.
Weirdly, exactly the size of my hand with my claws extended.
Halle must catch me eyeing the claw extension on the indentation because she says, “Claws, too, please.”
Her politeness sets me on edge.
But once again, I have few choices.
I extend my claws and press my palm to the door. My hand fit perfectly within the grooves.
My eyes narrow when nothing happens. “Is that it?”
Halle’s forehead puckers. “Well… normally, it opens right away, so I don’t understand?—”
“Wrong hand.” Emil’s baritone breaks the expectant silence behind me. “Veda needs to use her left.”
“Her left?” Halle stiffens again.
“That’s the hand that ripped the book to shreds.”
Halle’s forehead creases. “Oh.”
I don’t wait for her to ask.
I quickly switch hands, raising my left. The moment I extend it toward the door, the indentation changes shape.
Once again, there are grooves for my claws, but the thumb is now on the other side.
